Gallery Piece
by LadyLeafling
Summary: Whenever spanking occurs, other kinky things are sure to follow. Steve and Tony find that out first-hand, as the super-soldier sets out to punish Tony for his snarky attitude. Slash.


**A\N: Okay, its official—when I start writing about spanking; and it's not some horrible, degrading experience—I know I need to take my butt outside. Ugh… I don't even know why I wrote this, but I couldn't stop once I started. Ha… story of my life. Title taken from a song of the same name, by of Montreal.**

* * *

It was hardly July, and already, summer had all but suffocated New York City and all her inhabitants. The sunlight reflecting off windows, tall and not, made it too hard to see more than five feet ahead of you, as light shined in your eye constantly. The heat radiating off on the blacktop almost vehemently, made the areas nearest the street hotter than they should have been, and made walking through the city hell, as it felt like it was nearly one hundred degrees. The wind should have come as a relief—blustering persistently through opened windows and doors at any given moment—but, it too had chosen to conspire with Mother Nature and dehydrate the entirety of the densely-populated region with its arid, blistering squalls, which smelled faintly of the sea, but carried none of its coolness.

Those who could afford top of the line air-conditioning were too afraid to leave their homes, for fear that they would melt in the nearly ninety-degree weather. Those who could not suffered, dragging themselves to work, sweaty and awkward in their clothes, as perspiration formed on their overheated skin and soaked their clothing through, causing it to cling to them like a second skin. Children, who thought they would be spending the summer planning in the park or traveling abroad, wasted a sizable chunk of their holiday, as they lazed around the house, their heads spinning with hysteria, as the heat drained them not only of moisture, but of vitality and the motivation to become active, as well.

A little while, sometime after noon, as the high temperature drew humidity from far and wide, clouds—stormy gray and fleecy; so heavy with the promise of rain, that they seemed to loom lower than usual, in the sky—collected overhead. The smell of rain had everyone on edge, as they waited for the inevitable downpour to cool all and everything down. The newscasters fanned themselves with their thick stacks of paper, and loosened their ties, as they reported with barely contained glee that it was already beginning to rain in the Jersey area.

Steve had let the channel stay on the local news station the entire time he was in the shower. Now that he was out, sauntering lethargically throughout his apartment, not in a rush to peel off the thin, moist hanging from his hips, as he basked in the temporary-feeling of cool, he searched the couch cushions for the remote to find something to preoccupy his time, until the washing machine finished its spin-cycle. The unprofessional banter being exchanged by the flirty broadcaster and her co-anchor—who was probably twice her age, judging by his mostly silver hair—had long since become a nagging murmur, as Steve tuned it out. He located the remote not a moment too soon, as the broadcast went to commercial break. Clicking the button and turning off the television, he tossed the remote-control over his shoulder, for it to be lost again.

A lazy sigh escaped him, as Steve plopped down on the settee and stared up at the ceiling fan. It turned and turned, so fast that the wooden-blades were a blur of ebony-brown. If he closed his eyes he could feel the fan doing its work—could feel himself gradually cooling down. Steve had almost drifted off to sleep—his eyes half-lidded and his breathing slow and steady, as his bare chest rose and fell softly—when his mobile rang. The trilling chirp of the cellphone reeling him back to reality, before he had the chance to slip into a state of blissful oblivion, more effectively than ripping a blanket off a kid and exposing their out-of-focus eyes to the glaring sunlight.

Steve groaned irritably, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyelids, before he rolled off the couch and reached for a nearby coffee-table. Locating the phone more easily than he had the remote, he answered it quickly. "What is it?" He snapped, not nearly in the mood for formalities such as, "Hello" and etcetera.

The caller did not appreciate his attitude. _"Hey, is that anyway to treat your best-pal?"_ Tony asked, pretending to have been upset by Steve's abruptness, as he sniffled humorously.

Steve was unimpressed. "I'm hanging up." He warned, before moving to do just that. He paused, however, when he heard Tony quickly plead for him not to.

_"Wait, wait, wait—Captain Fussy, I called you for a reason!"_ Tony supplied, quickly.

The super-soldier rolled his eyes, before pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder, so that he could stand and hold his towel up, simultaneously. Once he was to his feet, he drifted to the kitchen for something to drink. "Okay, what is it?" He asked, dismissively.

_"Natasha's over here… she's been shot!"_

Steve had retrieved and opened a bottle of coke, and had he been drinking from it, he would have sprayed the contents of the can all over the kitchen. "What, no way—seriously?!" He choked, slamming the coke down onto the counter, as he adjusted the mobile against his ear.

"_No, not seriously. I would fucking joke about having one of SHIELD's top-agents bleeding to death on my carpet." _Tony's voice dripped with sarcasm. "_Of course, I'm being serious, you idiot!_"

Steve jerked away from the phone, as the volume of Tony's voice grew too loud for him to deal with. Rubbing his aching ear, he switched the side of his head the phone was on, and answered promptly. "Why haven't you called the emergency-services, yet?—don't you have something in that lab of yours that can help her?"

_"First of all, I'm good, but I'm not fucking GOD, I don't have all the answers, even though I say I do!" _Tony groused; panic becoming more and more apparent in his tone. "_And secondly, she said that she's deep-uncover! If I call 911, everyone's coming, the ambulance, the fire department, and the POLICE—the same incompetent department she's been making a fool out of for the past four weeks. I'm not going to be the reason she gets locked up in some maximum security prison! Just think if she breaks out, she's going to kill me."_

Steve rubbed his face irritably. "What do you want me to do, then?"

_"Come over. I think I have a plan."_

The super-soldier fussed, but obeyed. Dashing to his bedroom to find something appropriate to wear, he kept Tony on the phone, as he rifled through the drawers and ripped clothes off the hangers. Fuck Tony for involving him in this, and fuck Natasha for getting shot on laundry day!

"_How long are you going to take? We're not going to the red carpet, we're trying to stop Red from ruining the carpet with all the blood she's spilling everywhere._"

"Don't you ever the hell up?" Steve snapped, agitated in the face of pressure, as he stumbled out the door in the midst of dressing himself. As he argued with Tony, his footsteps and voice reverberated throughout the outside hallway, almost making it impossible for either to hear each other. The phone call ended eventually, when Steve hopped onto his motorcycle, as there was no way he was going to try and talk to the infuriating billionaire, whilst traversing the road.

* * *

Steve was at his destination within twenty-minutes, cursing himself for not just running all the way, as he dismounted the bike and made for the towering skyscraper Tony called his workspace and home. It was an additional ten-minutes, before he got up to the penthouse, as the stairs were closed for maintenance and the elevator had been overrun by bratty children who liked to hit all the buttons they could reach. If not for their parents, Steve would have cuffed the both of them in their pointy little chins.

As soon as the lift's thick metal doors peeled open, Steve threw himself into the hallway, before the doors had the chance to close on him. Tearing down the hall like a bat out of hall, Steve found the other elevator, the one that led to the penthouse. Smashing the top button with his forefinger, the super-soldier prayed that Natasha wasn't dead and he wasn't about to find himself tied up in a perverse plot, as per usual to Tony, to both hide her body and create a plausible alibi.

Steve didn't have his evil mastermind pants on, so if that was the case, he would quit while he was ahead and leave as soon as he spotted the ex-spy's corpse.

When he finally got up to Tony's penthouse, Steve was sweating bullets. "Where is she?" The super-soldier panted, looking around the posh living-space for any signs of the wounded agent.

Tony stood behind the bar; looking the picture of aloof, as he mixed himself a strong concoction consisting of aged bourbon and anything in the liquor cabinet. "Where's who?" The dark-haired man questioned, before sniffing the muck that sat in the bottom of the opaque tumbler and grimacing as his eyes watered from the foulness.

Steve looked bewildered. "Where's _Natasha_, you ass! Where is she, you told me that she'd been shot?!" As he breathed heavily, trying to regain his bearings, the super-soldier watched Tony shift between his two feet—looking so suspicious, that he might as well be wearing a bright-yellow sign that said: **_"HELLO! My name is: _****_Guilty_****_! And I'm always up to something. Always." _**Not in those exact words… but… the point remains. When Tony smirked, a light-bulb flickered on over Steve's head. The tension released from his body, as he spoke. "She's not here, is she?"

Tony barely suppressed his chuckles, as he nodded slowly. "She never was." He tried not to look amused, the dark-haired man really, really tried—but, then Steve started making this weird sputtering noise, and gaping like a fish-out-of-water, as he went beet-red in the face like Yosemite Sam after being duped by Bugs Bunny one time too many. The nail in the coffin, however, was when Steve dragged himself to one of the many leather armchairs that decorated the penthouse and began grousing about all the crap he had to go through to get there. Tony burst into tears, unable to stave off his overpowering mirth any longer, as he let out a series of mocking howls and laughter.

Steve let Tony have his laugh, while he berated himself for falling for such an obvious lie. Why would Natasha go to Tony of all the people she hated less in the world!? Ugh, he was so stupid. Raking his fingers through his hair, the super-soldier grumbled angrily, as he waited for Tony to come down from cloud nine.

Eventually, when the dark-haired man did, he abandoned his poor attempt at mixing a drink on the counter, and approached the armchair with a bottle of wine. "Oh, cheer up, Cap. I was only testing to see if New York's gallant, homegrown-hero was as alert as everyone said he was."

Peeking through the slits in his fingers, Steve spotted the bottle in Tony's hands. He had half a mind to decline it, as he wasn't much of a drinker, but the super-soldier took it from the younger man's grip nonetheless. Uncorking the wine with his teeth, Steve took a long swill from the bottle.

Tony smiled, thinking all was forgiven, as he folded his arms over his chest and watched the blonde drink. "Besides… it's not like you were doing anything, since you don't have a social life or any _real_ assignments—unless, of course, Fury feels like sending a lap-dog to deal with fussy civilians or take out the trash for him." Steve inhaled, mid-swallow, as he listened to Tony and took immediate offense. The dark-haired man failed to notice, as he grinned at the mental image of Steve wiping Fury's nose for him. "So, no harm no foul?"

Steve felt rage flare in his chest, at Tony's implication that he was nothing more than a figurehead that pulled shitty jobs, because he had no real talents. Because, he was a fraud whose greatest accomplishment was drinking his exceptional abilities out of a bottle. Well, even if that wasn't what Tony was implying, that's what Steve inferred from his statement.

The half-empty bottle of wine shattered when it hit the floor. Tony jumped, startled by the unexpected noise, but before he had time to speak; Steve had seized both of his wrists in his calloused hands and pulled him forward. Tony stumbled, as he was yanked almost off his feet. Next thing he knew, he was laying haphazardly across Steve's lap. The larger man's hands released their vice-like hold on his wrists in favor of gripping him by the midsection to keep him from fleeing.

Trapped in Steve's lap, Tony struggled and found that he couldn't shake himself free—that Steve's arms wouldn't budge. _Oh, shit._ He swore mentally, knowing that he was in some serious trouble. Squirming, as he gripped at the fabric of the super-soldier's trouser-leg, Tony tried to force himself upright, or slide under those massive arms bearing down on him. When he was absolutely sure he wasn't getting out of this, Tony tried another tactic. Because, damn the world if he was going to let himself be spanked by a grown-man. Hm, talking himself out of it seemed like the best course of action. After all, running his mouth usually worked during these kinds of things.

First, Tony went with the inwardly scared, but outwardly sarcastic remarks, such as: "Okay, I get it, you proved your point—you're strong enough to open pesky pickle-jars around the office. Can you let me up, now?" and, "I know the people of your time were repressed—but, just because its twenty-twelve and I'm usually very open-minded, doesn't mean you can indulge in your kinky-fantasies with me!"

When those failed miserably—and by miserably, his words were enough to make Steve lean back in the armchair and hastily unfasten his belt. As if the super-soldier couldn't wait to start putting angry-red welts on Tony's ass. Struggling with renewed vigor, as Tony became surer and surer that a terrible, terrible spanking was imminent, he tried a different approach. "Look, Cap, I was joking. Can't you handle a joke—"

The immediate response was a swift swat of the cool leather belt against his lower back. It wasn't a hard hit, but with his shirt riding up his torso, Tony felt the belt clear as day. He let out a startled gasp, as the skin bean to throb faintly from the strike. "That was your warning. The next one won't be as soft." Steve promised darkly, before grabbing the waistband of Tony's pants and yanking his trousers down, down, down, until they were bunched up around his knees.

The dark-haired man clenched his eyes shut, as the chilled air—courtesy of the A\C—assaulted his bared skin. Oh, crap… oh, crap… this was really happening. Steve was going to spank him. Damn, damn, damn. "Whoa—what the fuck, Steve!?" He complained, his voice shrill, as he continued to fight the inevitable.

Steve tsk'ed, before putting in elbow in the center of Tony's back to keep him from wiggling around too much. "Corporal punishment, back in my time, was pretty customary when dealing with bad children. A good ten whacks on the ass with a good belt or paddle, and the kids would straighten out. You're not a kid, however, so ten hits… I don't think that'll be enough." The super-soldier said, more to himself than Tony, as he turned the thought over in his head.

Tony shuddered. This wasn't Steve—Steve was a lot of things, but this… this was a bit much. Not knowing whether to beg for Steve to come back to his senses and let him go, or to beg him to just get this spanking over with, the slighter man buried his face into the coarse fabric of Steve's pants and prayed that something would happen already. The suspense was killing him. Listening to the rustle of fabric, as Steve shifted underneath him, Tony groaned irritably: "Anytime now, Cap, Fury's going to need someone to brew him coffee." He mumbled.

That was enough to set Steve off. Brandishing his belt, Steve brought the leather accessory down with immense force. The only warning Tony got before the belt hit his ass, was the sound of leather slicing through the air. **_TWHACK!_** was the sound of leather on skin. It echoed throughout the penthouse along with Tony's undignified shrieked. "Oh, my god!" He cried out, ass stinging horribly—so, so horribly. Tears welled in his eyes. Only the first hit, and he was relenting. If the rest of them were going to be that bad, there was no way he could stand them. He needed to end this.

"Steve—stop! Oh, fuck, I get it. I really d—oh!" Tony choked on his words, as Steve dealt another powerful blow to his coloring flesh. It was even harder than the first—Tony wailed, struggling uselessly as he felt pain radiating up his spine. Sputtering and pleading, he clenched his eyes shut. "No more—no more! I'm sorry!"

Steve paused, mid-swing, to regard Tony's state. His face was flushed red—from embarrassment, or from the pain, and possibly from the crying. Maybe a mixture of all three. His body was trembling, already glistening with a sheen of sweat. He was even begging, but it wasn't enough. "I've seen small children last a half hour doing this, Tony. Don't think I'm letting you off easy."

"Well, unlike those unfortunate brats, I'm not used to this kind of degrading abuse—AHH!"

Another smack, another cry of pain, another prayer that this would come to a halt. Tony was as sobbing like the aforementioned children who'd been subjected to this form of punishment, tears streaking down his cheeks and dampening Steve's trousers. He felt … well, he didn't want to get into the things he was feeling right now, but rest assured that he felt quite a bit of strong, confusing emotions, then, as he lay sprawled out over _Captain_-fucking-_America_'s legs, being spanked on his bare ass like this wasn't weird or homoerotic.

The next hits came in rapid secession. Too hard, too fast. Tony couldn't brace it, he could only react with more tears and pleas, more squirming and gasping, as the spanks rocked him harshly against Steve's lap. At some point, Tony felt himself grow hot, overheated even with his thin t-shirt soaked through with sweat and his pants so far down his legs, that they were practically gone. His groans of pain turned into something else—something that he couldn't recognize in the primal haze of action and reaction.

_SWICK, SWICK, SWICK! _

Over and over. The staccato rhythm of the blows had long since made Tony give up on trying to guess when they were about to impact. The dark-haired man wheezed, as he tried to keep the air from escaping his lungs, as Steve's powerful, practiced spanking stole it all away. Pleading Steve's name, Tony gasped and shuddered, rutted and keened—not before long, he tensed. His whole body going taut against Steve, as Tony lost himself.

Steve—who was above and under him, torturing Tony with his silence, driving the slighter man to the brink with the licentious lashing and the exquisite aching it induced in both body and mind—watched Tony come undone, as he dealt an especially hard slap to the man's rosy-red ass. The noise that escaped Tony provoked something deep within Steve—like fuel being introduced to a fire, Steve felt arousal flare up almost out of nowhere, burning bright and hot within the pit of his stomach. The super-soldier tried not to pay the growing discomfort between his legs any mind, but with Tony rutting against him in a mixture of distress and lust, he couldn't stop himself.

Steve panted, so effected by the slighter man's movements and noises that his body begged to have him. Tony looked so willing, would be oppose to Steve's advances if the older man tried? The blonde shook his head. No, no—what the fuck was he thinking? This was a punishment. Tony had to learn… had to learn—_what?_ Fuck, Steve couldn't remember. All he knew was that he wasn't done with this. Not by a long shot.

Discarding the belt with a simple chuck of it over his shoulder, Steve jostled Tony around on his lap, as he repositioned him. If the other man wanted to, he could have gotten up, could have run, now that Steve was baring down on him with all his impressive weight—Instead, with his mind so fogged up with desire, Tony laid there waiting for more. For anything else.

Steve smoothed his palm out across the bright-red expanse of pale skin that stretched out across Tony's ass. It was hot to the touch. He groaned, as he squeezed the abused skin. Tony shuddered, ducking his head down low, as he panted against Steve's leg. The blonde caressed the flesh he was just lashing not a moment ago with such tenderness, that it made Tony's heart thud riotously in his chest. The gentle touch didn't last long, however, as Steve abruptly raked his fingers along the heated flesh—his dull nails leaving four long rows of red, as they went. Tony shook so violently, that he almost fell onto the floor. Broken little noises finding their way from his raw throat, as the overwhelming sensations almost pushed him over the precipice of climax for the second time. Or, perhaps the first? Tony didn't even know anymore.

Steve pulled Tony upright, then; grimacing as the cool of the surrounding air found the dampness on his trousers. The younger man went willingly, as Steve relocated him into a sitting position on his lap. Tony gritted his teeth, as he aching flesh came in contact with the abrasive fabric covering Steve's legs. Lifting his hips, he straddled the super-soldier. Knees astride Steve's hips, Tony grabbed either side of his perfectly chiseled jaw and brought their mouths together. The kiss was more so dizzying than the spanking, Steve claiming his mouth with a sense of alarming urgency.

Kissing with reckless abandon and caressing any bare flesh that could be reached—they stayed like that so long, that Tony began to feel an ache in his joints. Shifting between his knees, he grumbled at the discomfort in his knees, as it actually became worse than both the sting in his ass or the pounding of his heart in his chest. Pulling away, he began to say something—only to be interrupted, when Steve gripped him by the lower back and neck, getting a good hold on him, before he pushed Tony to the floor.

No other words escaped the slighter man, Steve made sure of that.


End file.
